


Roamin'

by Ariamaki



Category: RWBY
Genre: Clusterfuck, Drinking & Talking, F/F, F/M, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:56:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3282785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariamaki/pseuds/Ariamaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman Torchwick has been having a bad day. Week. Month. Year. </p><p>...OK, maybe Roman Torchwick has been having one long bad streak for about as far back as he can cleanly remember. But he decides to set things right by doing the only logical thing: Going out drinking. This goes... less optimally than he planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drinking, Birds

**Author's Note:**

> #CreativeForMonty
> 
>    
> This fic contains / will contain spoilers up to Season 2, Episode 4 of the show, and will follow all canon revealed to that point as closely as possible. 
> 
> Think of it like a VN-style path split: Anything after 2x4 _might_ be correct / accurate to this fic, or it might not matter, or it might be directly contradicted. More details as to the split and the differences will be covered as they're relevant.

 

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The cane came down hard across his thighs, and Roman was very glad it was just a plain wooden switch and not his Melodic Cudgel. He knew that weapon too well, inside and out... Sullying it like this, with his dirty habits, would be a shame. Plus, it was a steel-hard piece of work with no potential for flexion: Awful material for this kind of thing. More coherent thoughts were coming to mind, but the cane ( _and, less importantly, the person holding it_ ) put a stop to that very quickly with another swat. This one landed higher, and faster, right below the curve of his ass. Roman hummed in pleasure, not giving anybody else in the room the satisfaction of hearing his golden voice.

Unfortunately, his current assailant knew he was holding back, and so five or six more fast strikes came _straight_ across the cloth-draped meat of his rear. The noise he made was less 'sensual moan' and more 'agitated yip', but the accompanying twitch of his cock made it very clear it was appreciated where it counted. Sometimes, Roman really wished he had the patience for those ascetic body-training exercises he'd heard so much about: Even with his hips pressed against a surface like this, there were things he couldn't hide. The fact that he was strip-fuckin' naked save for a plain white sheet to dampen some of the blows didn't help.

"Well, we got a good reaction there. I thought you'd only want heavy hits, but let's try something."

The next minute or five blurred into a frenzy of low-pressure strikes, softer than he would normally like, but delivered with the kind of unstoppable passion he couldn't argue against. There were no breaks, to the point where he couldn't tell there was just one switch: It felt like he was getting hit two or three times at once, and it was all too fucking weak but there was just _so much_. His sense of decorum was long-gone, as were most of his physical senses except for the delicious heat and pressure building in his hips and the horribly lovely pain on his cheeks. His vision was cut off with a blindfold and his sense of smell obfuscated with some kind of cinnamon oil in the air, which all only served to make his sense of touch that much sharper, the feather-light blows that much more impactful. After the first half-dozen, his voice came out freely and enthusiastically, sighs and groans mixed with foul obscenity and pleading.

No succor came from his begging, of course: They had a break word and a safe word, and he wasn't saying either until he was good and finished. For all their other issues, these particular beaters weren't going to go past his limits. Dust, they probably wouldn't even _approach_ his limits. Kids these days...

"So! We done with the warm-ups and love taps Ms. B?"

"Yes, I think he's prepared to get some serious treatment, Ms. Y."

Roman rolled his eyes at the fake pro talk, but again, he couldn't hide the hitch in his voice or the glistening droplet at the tip of his cock.

"These kids just keep gettin' _kinkier_."

 

\--------

 

Roman Torchwick. Man of many titles.

Master Thief. Dust Connoisseur Chain Smoker Smug Prick.

And, lately?

Constant Target of Aggravated Robbery by Hooker.

For the sixth time in as many months, he was bound to some very sturdy furniture ( _a solid metal chair this time_ ), and had a nice fresh slap-mark across his face. And he'd be fine with that... If it weren't for the fact that the woman who was _supposed_ to be beating him and berating him into a nice hot frenzy had in fact taken his wallet and clothes, slapped him out of spite, and left. Just like the last five.

At least this one left the boxers.

Of course, it would only take him a scant hour to break free, track her down, get everything back ( _plus 100% interest for lost time, **her** clothes included_ ), and have the bitch blacklisted in the local underground: Nobody would ever re-hire a guy or gal who was known to screw over their clients. But it was just the _hassle_ , and the minor wisp of non-erotic shame that chased him. For a crook and an inveterate liar, he was fairly loose with his Lien and his trust alike. Any situation that involved giving up too much of either one was a situation he was quite confident he could get out of, so he never really changed his ways. Still... It had been at least a year since he last got laid, and at least two since somebody would indulge his kinks. He was at wit's end, and the only thing more pent up than his anger over this whole larcenous prostitute situation?

Was his jizz.

There had to be a solution to this, and there had to be one _soon_ , or he'd have to take the 'ol M.C. out for a spin and burn something to the ground just for kicks.

 

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Booze.

People solved these kinds of problems with drinking, or so he was pretty sure. It wasn't his style, but beggars, choosers, etc. Roman wouldn't exactly be the most _welcome_ face back at Hei Xiong's place, but... Bygones were bygones, yeah? It wasn't like they were even very good thugs that he had hired and then lost. And the emphasis was absolutely on _lost_ here: He didn't dispose of them, they just... weren't anywhere to be found after that run-in with Red. Roman had a distressing tendency to lose things around those girls, it turned out. His thugs, his cool, ( _debatably_ ) his Dust, his ( _again, for given definitions_ ) giant damn combat robot, even!

But the one thing they could not take away was his right to sit down at an underground bar and dance club built inside of a converted warehouse and be _ignored by the bartender like **everybody else**_. And damnit, he was going to exercise that right directly to the bottom of the nearest bottle. As soon as he got served. Any day now, he presumed. He'd already paid up-front. And there was literally nobody else at the counter, after all. He wasn't even remotely disguised, and if 'Junior' had that big of a grudge, he'd already have aired it. No, it was more like they were all dealing with something else...

"Like, she's coming back? And she called _ahead_ this time?"

"I guess, Miltia. The _nerve_ of that girl."

"Really. Cute tho."

"Totes."

Apparently the hired help were gossiping. Not that Roman cared. He just didn't have anything better to do given that he _still wasn't getting any service_. But maybe some solitude was what he needed right now, as opposed to a more high-octane method of relaxation. Whatever those girls were talking about, it was no skin off his nose. He could just kick back, calm down, and maybe, _eventually_ , get a damn beverage.

In direct defiance of what he had _just_ said / thought, the door crashed open behind him with enough force he could have sworn something exploded... And moments later, Roman heard a phrase he _really_ didn't want to hear right now. In a _voice_ he really didn't want to hear right now.

"GIRLS NIGHT OUT~!", cried Ruby Rose, with far too much cheer given she was the youngest person in a mile radius, stepping into an underworld crime bar.

Red. Yes. That was _totally_ what he needed. And "girls" plural implied the presence of Ice Queen and Kitten and Blondie and maybe even _more_ obnoxious just-barely-old-enough-to-bother-him ladies each individually packing enough firepower to level this building.

Relaxation had just gone straight out the door... Apparently along with 90% of Junior's thugs.

And yet something made Roman decide to just... sit still. What could it possibly have been?

Oh.

Right.

" **YO, XIONG, I STILL DON'T HAVE MY DAMN BEVERAGE**!"

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	2. Orders, Deals

 

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Just like he expected, after his little outburst, the new party approached him. And just like he feared, it was Red and her little gang of trouble-makers, as well as two faces he didn't recognize: A chipper leggy redhead in sleek armor that seemed a _little_ familiar, and a bubbly pink mess of a girl with an orange mop that almost put his locks to shame. **Almost**. A moment later he heard weapons unfolding, and he sighed.

"New policy here at the bar, kiddos. Hate to break it to you, but-"

"TORCHWICK! We came out here to have a good time, and honestly, you're about to be _so_ atta-"

Junior finally piped in from across the bar, Roman's long-since-warmed scotch on the rocks clenched in one meaty fist.  
"Blondie. Blondie's associates. Scumsucker. Good to see you all again, and _hey_ , whaddya know, I think you all might get to leave my bar and my men intact for a change! I'm pretty confident, anyways, since I had _riot-grade sleeping Dust canisters_ installed all over the club. They cover every square inch of this place, trust me, we tested. And if I hear so much as _one_ round get fired, _one_ fucking punch get thrown? You're all getting knocked out and thrown into the streets, no questions asked."

"Yes, Hei Xiong, you steroidal mook, _I know_. You told me when I came in, you told me when I _paid_ , and you have now told me a third time. And by scale, I should be on my third _drink_. And yet here I see you still holding my **first**. Be a dear and fix that for this _paying customer_ , would ya Junior?"

Roman swiped his drink without waiting for a reply and threw the entire thing back in one shot. The long wait had watered it down quite a bit, which was good, since Junior had _not_ stiffed him with the cheap stuff: His throat felt like it was on fire, ice or not. Which, all things considered, was a lot better than having every _other_ part of his body on fire, courtesy Blondie. He really did need to learn their names at some point, if this was going to keep happening.

"So that's the scoop, tykes. Like it or not, we are hereby in a no-fire zone. Truce City. Despite the fact that I would love to do nothing more than send Melody here straight up your collective-"

Blondie spun his stool around and cut him off with a finger delicately laid over his lips. Warm... No, hot. The girl's blood must run like goddamn lava for her skin to feel this heated. She's smiling on the other side of that long arm, which was a change of pace.  
"Aawww, Roman... I always _pegged_ you for the type to want that long, hard piece of work stuck up inside-"

This time Blondie was the one getting cut off, by a very loud fake cough from across the bar: Junior was miming a button-pressing gesture. Roman was glad for the interruption, but even stopping her hadn't stopped the treacherous blush from painting his face ( _and other, less visible, places_ ). Her voice was too damn seductive for a school-aged girl, and her physical closeness wasn't helping. And how the fuck would she know what she was talking about... Right. He had almost forgotten: Schoolkids and a well-hidden stash of porn, they went together like scotch and ice. Speaking of which...

"While you're over here being all attentive, my second drink, if you please? And you might as well take all their orders while you're here."

There was a pause as they all broke away into a brief huddle to discuss the situation. Apparently, the final decision was to stay and drink, Roman or no Roman.

"Strawberry Sunrise. No ice. And-"

"Little umbrella, right. I remember."

"Um... Same thing as Yang!"

"Make hers a virgin though."

"Aaww, don't be mean!"

"No, Ruby, it means it doesn't have any... Nevermind."

Hmm. So Blondie and Red were Yang and Ruby, respectively. He was making progress already! Now for the rest of them to hopefully spill their own names while ordering.

"Oooh, make mine a zombie! Not flaming though, that kills the best part. And no skimping on the cherries, mister!"

"Snifter of brandy, please."

"Ah, well... I suppose I would like a Stoplight... in blue, gold, and white, if that is possible."

"White Atlesian, heavy on the cream."

Well, that was four misses, although the drinks said at least _something_ about them. A heavy boozer with a sweet tooth, a high-class gal ( _was that seriously the Schnee logo on her dress?_ ), an inexperienced girl trying to fulfill some sort of personal fantasy ( _or maybe just be quirky_ ), and... Well, Kitten, being all stereotypical despite herself. It took a lot of Roman's self-control to not tell Xiong to garnish hers with a gummi fish.

Junior turned around to prepare the drinks, and Roman, in turn, turned to look behind him. These girls were a big potential thorn in his side, and while they might be peaceful now, nothing guaranteed him a safe trip home, or even five feet outside the door. He decided to go for broke.

"Look, let's... let's have tonight be a truce. For real. You've got me at a rather insane disadvantage, six on one here, but I've got some leverage. I aint' rattin' anybody out, I'm not spilling the entire crate of Dust about whatever plans _may_ or _may not_ be floating around... But I will give you all one piece of information, in return for some peace and quiet tonight."

They all looked at him expectantly: No reply, but he wasn't getting shot down either. At the very least, Red seemed pleased. _Well, here goes nothing..._  
"You're all chasing after me? Hounding me because I'm in charge of some insane plan to destroy Vale or whatever it is you think I'm doing? Well here's the newsflash: **You're barking up the wrong tree**! I'm not in charge, and I never was. I'm just in it for the cash, the moolah, everybody's sweet lover, the one called Lien. And, maybe, a little prestige. So if you gals want to get to the bottom of things, you need to look for somebody else. And Red?"

Red cocked her head and stared, expression unreadable.  
"You've met her before."

The girl taps her chin, thinking.  
"And how would _you_ know that? I mean, you've only seen me once or twice yourself, and the only people I saw at the same time as being around you were Professor Goodwitch, Penny, Blake and Sun, and I trust all of them... Wait. You specifically said 'her'. That fire-shooting woman, that first night! On the airship! Are you talking about her?"

"Uh-uh kid, that's not how it works. I said _one_ piece of information. No confirming or denying. But you seem like a smart girl who can put two and two together, and I'm not saying you're _wrong_ either."

She smiled at him, and it was surprisingly brilliant for the expression of a stone-cold monster slayer in training. And it was strange, given that in their previous encounters, she had been frowning at him _at best_.  
"That reminds me! I need to thank you, Mr. Torchwick."

The girl in the white Schnee dress snapped something clean in half in her grasp. Sounded expensive.  
"You _**what**_!?"

"Ah, seriously, what your girlfriend said. You _what_ , Red?"

She blushed at the implication, but, and he found this interesting, didn't correct him.  
"Need to thank you! I mean, now that I have the opportunity. If it weren't for that encounter we had at _From Dust 'Til Dawn_ , I'd never have met Professor Goodwitch and Professor Ozpin, and I'd never have gotten into Beacon so early... Which means I'd never have formed Team RWBY or made all of my new friends. So I actually really owe you, when it comes right down to it. And as such, by the power invested in me as the leader of Team RWBY, _and_ , need I remind certain Weisses, the organizer of this Girl's Night? I accept your offer of a truce. We'll be good!"

And after that baffling damn speech, she extended her hand. Was she _serious_?

...Fuck it.

He grasped her hand ( _so small_ ) in his, and shook, grin all perfect white.  
"You've got yourself a deal, _Ruby_."

 

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End file.
